


Silence

by apostate (394percentdone)



Series: Freedom On My Tongue [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Grief, explorations of faith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 11:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20470637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/394percentdone/pseuds/apostate
Summary: Noure finds a prayer garden in Lowtown after Karl's death





	Silence

Noure didn’t mean to end up here. They didn’t even know this place existed until they stumbled upon it, moonlight falling on cracked stone benches and rusted iron gates. A prayer garden hidden and forgotten somewhere in Lowtown. Andraste with her hands cradled in front of her and lichen growing in the shape of tears down her splintering face. 

Stepping inside the space quietly Noure drags numb fingers over the hem of Andraste’s stone robe. They’re as empty as her hands. No offerings given, no prayers heard. Noure’s chest aches -as it has for days now. Everything lost in a chantry hollow in its beauty. Sunbursts in every window and on-

No. Noure’s breath hitches, catches inside their chest to rattle around the caverns left behind. They draw a glyph on their wrist and the sound of their life cuts off. Burning eyes raised to closed impassive stone Noure’s fingers itch to curl into their palm. 

Bright centers of grief consuming them from the inside out. Growing up in Andraste’s shadow, a place of pilgrimage and a place of worship. Denerim, the holy city. None of them were allowed inside the chantry, but all of them could sing the chant, Noure included. Sinner by birth, twice over.

Throat thick Noure closes their fingers into a fist around the base of Andraste’s statue, grips the cold crumbling stone of her holy visage and bows their head. “Why?” Voiceless, magic on their wrist glowing under the moonlight. White on white in the dark of night. 

All to familiar anger beginning to seep under their skin, “Why?” Repeated silence, words lost to everyone except themselves. “What did I do to you?” Ragged breathing muted, heat behind their eyes, trembling shoulders. "What didn't I do for you?" Tears hot on their eyelashes. 

With every unanswered prayer, Noure’s knees bend further with the weight of their sins until their shaky grip on the cold crumbling hem of Andraste’s robe isn’t enough. And they fall. 

Dead vines crunching soundlessly under them. A collapse of a person, knees and hands landing in the dirt, hair spilling around a forehead pressed into the earth. Clutching desperately. 

“Why?!” A sunburst brand and emotionless voice. Love reduced to ash. “I sang, I believed, I _served_. What have I done?” Noure’s voice cracks in their chest and the glyph on their wrist burns. Only silence prevails. “Tell me!”

Rising their head to the light of the moon, tears reflecting and teeth bared. No voice except the one they’ve silenced. “Why?”

Lichen in the shape of tears, cracks in the stone. Andraste has no answers for Noure now and the Maker never did. There is only the empty night and the sound of the wind. 

Snarl on Noure’s lips, hollow rage and grief. “Justify yourself to me! It’s our blood on your hands and you won’t even tell me why!” A body quaking, faith at war with itself. A voice so broken it bleeds. 

Anger fading as fast it ignited Noure’s lips fall from their snarl into an open-mouthed sob. Salt on their tongue impossible to ignore. Andraste’s weeping face watches Noure’s shoulders shake, their head falling and their body crumping inwards. Embers dying in their chest.

The silencing glyph on their wrist throbs in time with their heartbeat, with every escaping tear. What is the use of a Maker who abandons their children, how can Andraste leave Noure with faith left unspoken between them? Did Andraste ever love sinners like Noure? Blood tainted by magic made to serve. Silence in a prayer.

Fingers digging into the cool earth Noure clutches at the soil, searching for a connection to the only god they ever believed in. Eyes squeezed shut the only thing Noure can see is a sunburst brand where there once was smooth skin. A forehead Noure had kissed too many times to count now forever still and cold. 

Karl’s blood is still under their fingernails. Noure can smell the rusty tang of it and they aren’t sure they can wash their hands clean again. All they had ever wanted was a future where they could be free. A life they could lead without constantly looking over their shoulder. 

Noure had wanted to tell Karl they could finally stop running. After years of searching, Noure had found Anders and together they had found Karl and they were going to escape for good. Find a quiet home somewhere in the middle of nowhere, a place of healing and shelter built by hands who needed it most. 

But now they’re just words Noure didn’t say at all. A hope they’ll never see again. 

Silent hiccups in a prayer garden. Moss peeling away from dirt under Noure’s hands. Lichen in the shape of tears growing on a forgotten statue in Lowtown. Noure opens their eyes and raises their head to meet Andraste’s stony gaze and finds it hollow. Andraste is as quiet as Noure, the only sound comes from the wind whispering across Noure’s chilled skin.

Unsteadily they rise to their feet. Hiccuping with every breath Noure stretches out a hand and the tips of their fingers can just barely graze Andraste’s cheek. The lifeless statue is cold under their touch and the bumpy lichen comes away beneath Noure’s fingers in a mineral turquoise smear. Wiping Andraste’s tears from her holy skin Noure wishes Andraste cared enough to do the same. 

And maybe she does. Noure remembers lighting candles in celebration and feeling warmth stir deep within their chest as a child, thinking their Maker’s Bride truly knew them. 

But Noure also remembers the Chant sung in the Circle and the templars who spat in their face while quoting verses of purity in servitude. Inside the recesses of their turbulent mind, Noure knows Valor is stirring awake. Their attention caught by the trouble and grief in Noure’s thoughts. 

Would this be a sin too? 

Their friend who saved their life, a union Noure has been taught can only be unholy. But Noure’s never known a sense of peace like the one Valor brings. It’s a quiet contemplation in the same heartbeat of burning courage. And they sooth Noure’s aching exhaustion even now. 

Noure leaves the prayer garden without noise and without a backward glance. Andraste can hear their pleas even when they’re voiceless and Noure already has a spirit they can trust. 


End file.
